When I was small my dad once brought me a silvery plate that he hung under my skylight. It broke light into all the colours of the rainbow but strangely enough, only during the spring, summer and early autumn. The plate itself was therefore quickly forgotten during winters when it swung in small circles, barely reflecting a pale spot that travelled alone on the walls.
It quickly turned into a way of defining the light season. When the spring light came it bounced off the plate and spread around my room, painting it every colour of the rainbow. It was impossible to ignore, too, that first morning of spring when I would wake up to living in a rainbow.
This is what Iceland's habit of whipping out the rainbows at early spring reminds me of, so excuse me for being a little bit sentimental here. So many rainbows! They're now everywhere!